"Ellen, Probably South Carolina, or Somewhere Similar"
It's only late March, but down here warm enough to crack one window in front, another in back. And with those, all the dust and pollen that Ellen could ever hope for swirls and dances on and all around her in the back seat. Her sister and her sister's boyfriend are in front, their shallow but effortless banter evoking equal parts of loathing and envy. Did they invite her out of kindness or pity, she wonders. Pollen settles on her notebook in her lap, unwritten-in. She'd hoped that the trip would be bring some sort of closeness, or at least a story. Instead, Ellen's in the backseat more and more coated in pollen, just asking herself more questions.